


Realization of a Dream

by KelAlannan



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Brief mention of Ramsey, F/M, Girl getting what she wants, Post episode 8x4
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 21:59:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,364
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18882070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelAlannan/pseuds/KelAlannan
Summary: They survived the Battle of Winterfell, but both know that he won't survive his next. Maybe that is what emboldens her to visit him while Winterfell sleeps.





	Realization of a Dream

**Author's Note:**

> At this point we're all writing the same subject, but considering I just binged them all in a weekend, I think it's safe to say we're all still reading them as well.

Sleep did not come easily to Sansa Stark anymore. When sleep did come, the nightmares came close on its heels so what was the point in sleeping at all? A night like this did not help. Arya hadn't said anything, but Sansa hadn't missed the stash of road foods and supplies in the satchel half-stashed under the bed. The army would be shipping out as well, leaving only those who were too weak or wounded and those who belonged to Winterfell. 

Sansa had not even tried to sleep. She laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, until she heard the hour called late enough. Then she slid out from beneath the furs, wrapped her cloak around her shoulders, and collected a candle and flint from the desk. Feet shod in fur slippers, she stole towards the door. 

"Where are you going?"

She hadn't expected an assassin, her sister, to sleep in front of the door. "I'm visiting a friend."

"It's late."

"Yes." The sisters were at their most opaque. 

"Do you need company?" 

Sansa heard metal scraping on stone, an offer of Needle. Sansa smiled a little at her sister's peculiar way of showing she cared. Father had taught them well that family make the best allies. Usually. 

"Get some sleep, Arya. But first, if I may open my door?" Arya shifts across the floor. "You can sleep in the bed, you know. We shared a bed often enough as children."

"The enemies of our enemies are not our friends."

"Do as you will, Arya. But no following me." A lack of protestation spoke volumes. "I mean it."

Once in the corridor, Sansa struck a flame and lit her candle. The fur slippers made no sound on the stone corridors. She didn't wish to meet anyone on the way, but fortunately there should be few people in the dungeons. Presumably, most people had heard of the man who'd raised such a ruckus insisting on setting a bedroll in the dungeons. Sansa had; fortunately, for she hadn't wished to inquire of the steward. 

The dungeon door creaked unfortunately as it swung open and a rough voice said, "You survived the White Cunts. If you don't want to die now, you'll turn the fuck around."

"My only weapon is a knife that my sister helpfully advised me to 'Stick them with the pointy end.' Your life is in no danger from me, Hound." In the direction of his voice, she saw a large shape on the floor in a corner. He hadn't even sat up at her entrance. 

After a long silence, in which Sansa held her ground at the threshold, he spoke. "Little bird. Why are you here?"

"I heard you leave tomorrow. Are you going with the army?"

"With the Queen and her worms? Fuck off."

"Are you going to the city?"

"It's my fucking business, isn't it?"

Sansa crossed the room and, placing the candle out of the way, sat beside the Hound. Not too close, but she could see the candlelight glinting in his eyes. "Have you ever gone into battle sure that you were going to die?"

"You think I'm going to die."

"Do you?"

He didn't answer, but his bulk shifted, as if he stirred away from her. She knew the nature of his unfinished business.

As the silence grew heavy, he said, "I heard you had Baelish executed."

"I can't raise a blade myself, but a Stark passed judgment, a Stark carried it out. That's how it works in the North." 

"How did it feel?"

"Are you asking if the killing was sweet? No. But it was satisfying."

"Like the hounds?"

"That one, I enjoyed."

He laughed, dark and rusty. "Not a bird, but a wolf bitch. Wouldn't have thought it, back then."

"I couldn't have been, back then. 

The candlelight wasn't strong and with her between it and him, Sandor couldn't see Sansa's face. Just her shape and a red halo where the light caught in her hair. "You didn't come here to reminisce about the good old days. Why the fuck are you here?"

Sansa stood and raised her arms, he couldn't see to where. Then her cloak pooled around her. "You use that word enough, you should know what it means." He could see light through her skirt, which meant she was wearing...practically nothing. 

"What do you think you're doing? Fucking crazy Northerners."

Amusement clear in her voice, Sansa said, "You're not a slow man, Hound. I am sure you'll figure it out soon enough." 

He growled at her mockery, but then her nightdress fell and he could see a milky white curve of hip, of thigh, of calf...

"Giving me a pity fuck before I die? I don't take pity, even in pretty packages." But what a package it was, so close, just right there...

"I'm not here to give you anything. I'm here to take something for myself, if you'll have me." A girl her age and breeding should blush to say the words, but her tone remained cool and even. 

"If I'll have you? Aye, I'll have you, little bird. Just...fucking...why?" 

"Because I don't get to want things anymore. I do what I have to to survive, I do what my people need of me. Or maybe because yours are some of the only hands to have ever touched me with any kind of kindness." Her silhouette shrugs. "My first fantasy as a girl was of you, you know. Maybe I'm just fulfilling that a few years too late."

Bile rose in his throat and he turned to spit it onto the stone beside him. He sat up against the wall and punched the hard floor. "Laugh all you want, girl, but don't fucking lie to me." 

"Did you miss your cloak?" She moved closer and he could smell the scent of her. "I kept it. Hidden. Something I could keep to myself." She knelt next to him, laid a delicate hand on his chest. This close, he could see her whole body on offer. He groaned and didn't know if it was the sight of her or the thought of a little caged bird wrapping herself in his cloak, _because_ it was his. 

She knelt up and straddled him, her thighs pressing on his belt and in the middle... "I know what playing with fire gets you. Do you?" he asked, flinching at the raw want in his voice. 

"Yes." Her hand was still on his chest, but he felt it tremble. Unconsciously, he covered it with his own. She took a sharp breath and he let go instantly, cursing himself– "No. Please." 

"What do you want from me? Tell me now or I swear to all your fucking gods you need to leave." 

"You. Anything I can take."

He chuckled, then bit it off when it rocked Sansa's arse back against his cock. "That's a dangerous offer."

"Dangerous men have taken what I wouldn't give. You won't hurt me and dogs don't lie."

Tentatively, he placed his big hand over hers again. His other hand reached out and brushed her outer thigh where it lay against his side. It was smooth and downy with the softest hint of hair. It was intoxicating. His cock strained against the fabric entrapping it and he was this close to giving in. 

"One rule," Sansa said quietly, voice trembling with the first sign of nerves, "I won't be on my hands and knees for you."

Sandor clenched his hand around hers, so tightly she squeaked. _'Bolton broke the little Stark girl in rough,'_ he'd heard the man on the road say. _'Wonder if they sent the bloody sheets to Castle Black'._ He saw red for a moment then forced it away. She was here now and offering herself to him. 

"Kneel up," he commanded. She rose to her knees above him and he took the opportunity first to free his cock. The hand on her thigh drifted inward then up, just brushing through curl. "I ached for you then too, little bird. Never thought you'd willingly touch an ugly dog like me."

"I know you did." Her voice was sure, punctuated with a gasp as her brushed her sex again. "I didn't understand things then, but I learned the games men and women play and then, when I looked back, I understood."

He touched her purposefully and she writhed, so he persisted until her panting echoed through the dungeon. His other hand swept her from cheek to thigh, toying with her hair as fine as ladies' silk, finding the odd ridge of scar tissue that he smoothed over, making her moan as he weighed her perfect tits in his palm. Finally a delicate hand laid on his arm and he stopped. Sansa sank back down and now he could feel the wetness of her cunt on his bare skin. 

She leaned forward, her hand touched his ruined cheek, and her lips touched his, as delicately as any virgin. He understood then that he was the first she had wanted, the only other than the sick fucker she'd been sold to. 

He used all the control the Quiet Isle had to let her do with him as she wanted. He'd have fucking begged if she told him to and how did a little bird get that sort of power over him? 

When she'd drunk her fill of his lips, she lowered herself further until her tits pressed against his chest (fuck this shirt, he thought) and her lips pressed against his throat, down his neck, up the other side where the whores had never dared touch, and pressed a last kiss under where his ear would have been. 

Then she knelt up and wrapped her soft hand around his cock. He uttered a curse and Sansa smiled. She had never thought the Hound would be so well-behaved for her. When she thought of him, she'd always pictured him rutting into her against a wall, giant hands roaming, encompassing her, sheltering her. But she liked having him under her, between her legs, where she could ride on top. She sank down onto his cock as slowly as she could, adjusting to his girth as a shuddering moan slipped between her lips. She was so slick; she'd never known how easy this could be. 

When she was sat firmly down, she paused to marvel at the fullness she felt. 

"Little bird? Sansa?"

"Sandor." She rolled her hips experimentally and his hands rose to clutch at her waist. He lifted with her and when she came down, he rose to meet her and they both cried out. Again, again, again. 

The room was full of sound that neither was cognizant of making, but it fueled their blood hotter. "Hold on," Sandor growled, and she tightened her thighs around him as he rolled them over. Now she lay on his bedroll and he loomed over her but the realized fantasy of the protection of his body rose to her head instantly. She cried out and he lost control, fucking into her as she rode it out, meeting him at every thrust. 

"Sansa–"

"Yes," she breathed and with a howl, he lost himself inside her. He collapsed on top of her and though he was heavy, hazily, Sansa didn't mind. She kissed his temple and smoothed her hand down his back, feeling him shudder. He was like sleeping under the heaviest furs on a cold night and it made her feel warm. 

Eventually Sandor's breathing evened out and he ventured to ask, "Are you...?"

She blushed to have to speak, even after having behaved so wantonly. "I am well, ser." 

He laughed and his body shook. "We know you're no little bird anymore. I suppose it's stupid to call you that after seeing the she-wolf."

"I don't mind." How could she say that it still made her feel special?

They laid together in silence.

"I won't change my mind about leaving," Sandor said, the first to break. 

"I never thought you would."

He moved only enough to touch her hair where it had fanned out around her. "You're cold, Lady Stark," he admired. 

"That's how you survive."

He laughed again. "Who would have thought that we would come to understand each other?" She turned her head and the candle lit on a sharp smile. 

Reluctantly, Sandor disentangled himself from the heat of the woman beneath him and he flinched as he laid himself on the cold stone alongside her. He was surprised, even now, that she turned to drape herself along his side, head pillowed on his shoulder. 

She was glad that he was here. She was glad that when she finally sought out pleasure, it was with him. All romantic notions aside, he was also safe: tomorrow, the Hound would be gone; tomorrow, Lady Stark of Winterfell would stay here. 

Eventually she rose and re-dressed, feeling his eyes on her. Then she knelt down again and kissed him good-bye. "You'll leave with my blessing tomorrow. I will pray your blade strikes true." 

"Don't need prayer. I'm going to hell, but I'm not going alone." 

She kissed his lips, then his temple, then took the candle and was gone. 

Sansa didn't creep but strode through the halls. It was late enough that servants were starting to come and go and she didn't want to look like she was coming from, well, what she had just done. She eased her door open carefully, in case her sister was still on the other side, but there was a small shape in the bed instead. 

Removing her cloak, Sansa wet a cloth in the small basin and cleaned herself up. Only then did she climb into bed. Mortifyingly, Arya, without opening her eyes, said, "You smell like him." 

"Your clothes have been ashier of late, dear sister. Have you taken up blacksmithing?"

Arya said nothing else, so Sansa closed her eyes. She'd never known how pleasure loosened the limbs, made the eyes flutter and the mind blank. 

By tonight, he'd be gone and she'd still be here but maybe the warmth of memory could outlast the winter. 

At peace, she slept.


End file.
